#barekneesnosocks

amycus carrow. professor of philosophy, ravenwood academy.

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

admin-bones‌:

From what Amelia had heard and seen already, choreography seemed fitting for a Longbottom performance. It was amusing to imagine and she had to restrain herself snorting with laughter again at the glum and pitiful look on Amycus’s face. “Don’t worry.” she assured him, “If you watch my back, I’ll watch yours. We might not know each other well but in times of emergency, it’s nice to stick together..” The statement was posed in good humor but Amelia certainly wouldn’t mind sticking together with Amycus.

Nice friends. Amelia did have nice friends but she wouldn’t have put it past either of her brothers to hold onto a little blackmail if necessary ( perhaps even Caradoc, if she were being honest with herself ). “Good friends, yes.” Amelia answered, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip before turning her full attention to the topic of bunnies.

“Your bunny is going through a rebellious phase?” Amelia prompted, amusement causing her lips to tick upward. She knew all the ins and outs of raising bunnies and their offspring. Emmeline was quite the busy student so Amelia had taken it upon herself to become an auntie or bunny nanny of sorts. Anything to help her best friend. There had been plenty of times when she had one slip through her hands. She had been kicked in the face by Bruce as the tiny creature tried to make a daring escape into his mother’s bedroom just a few days ago. They were adorable and Amelia loved them but they could be a handful. “I believe it, more than you know.”

As Amycus leaned further into Amelia’s space, she fought the urge to lean closer to him. He even smelled nice, how unfair. Her grip tightening on the solo cup in her right hand before lifting it to her lips for another sip of liquid courage.

“Oh trust me, she wouldn’t let anyone steal her away.” Amelia said, dismissively waving her free hand. Emmeline was kind but no pushover. It was highly unlikely that Fabian would be able to tempt her into choosing sides in the great Ravenwood philosophy feud. Like Amelia, and many others she knew, they were mostly puzzled by it. “I know Fabian pretty well..I’m certain you and Emmeline work better together anyway. I’ll keep my praises away from him but can’t promise I won’t chat up my friend if any other opportunities arise.”

Nodding emphatically upon the subject of Lucy’s recent new father angst, his eyes wide as moons and equally as earnest as he took another sip of his punch, Amycus continued, “I think he’s struggling with the responsibilities of fatherhood,” which, Amycus supposed, was a fear that many a new father faced, bunny father or the regular kind. Families were difficult.

And Amelia, at the very least, wasn’t muttering into her cup or rolling her eyes at the first mention of his bunny so that at least was a minor improvement upon how most conversations about Lucy tended to go. He really did need to get more friends.

“I hope not,” he replied earnestly, chewing his lip at the prospect of losing Vance as a TA after finally finding someone who was both capable and didn’t look at him like he was a complete lunatic most of the time. They worked well together. That was no small miracle, considering Amycus’s track record. He took another sip of his punch, forehead furrowing further as Amelia explained that she knew Fabian well, as if Prewett was a reasonable person that other people managed to get along with just fine.

(He knew, logically, of course, that Prewett was not the delusional maniac that often populated Amycus’s concept of him as a person. That did not mean he had any intention of being logical about it.)

The music suddenly, abruptly, jumped in volume as a new song started and his hand jerked in surprise, punch spilling down his chest in a vivid splotch of red that began to rapidly soak into his shirt. His nose wrinkled in dismay as he swiped a hand over the mess, the dampness that was swiftly spreading downwards met with a steadily growing more flustered dart of eyes and hasty, “I’m sorry, I’m not — Alecto is always telling me to be more careful, I’m going to—”

He waved a hand distractedly from the stain to his punch cup in what was a fairly indecipherable attempt at charades and turned abruptly on his heel before Amelia could be disappointed in what a disaster the person she’d chosen to talk to was, squeezing hastily through the crowds in search of the bathrooms, already berating himself in the back of his head for utterly failing at his attempt to hold one normal conversation at a party. 

At the very least Karaoke Frank hadn’t found him this year. Small victories.

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

bunnyclubpresident‌:

“Understandable,” Emmeline says with a sharp nod. That was, if anything, the entire purpose of most of Carrow’s lectures; to consider different theories and their probability and appropriateness in the wider world. She finds it hard not to smirk at how gingerly he approaches Lucy, whose temper had made itself very well-known in the last few weeks. Emmeline was simply thankful that the babies had not inherited such a thing as of yet.

Satisfied that Bruce was settled into Amycus’s lap, Emmeline leans her back gently against the side of the rabbit run, cradling one of the babies softly in her lap. A quick glance tells her that it’s either Doc or Sleepy that she is holding, but she would quite readily admit that she really couldn’t tell any of them apart as of yet. Maybe one day. Deciding against dwelling on that, she settles herself back for what she can only imagine is an enthralling tale.

In all honesty, it was the most Emmeline had ever heard Amycus speak before in her life, and she finds it difficult not to gape at the thought. She had heard him lecture, of course, but reciting his lesson plans and lecture notes was not the same as this. This was practically a full conversation. 

Emmeline would gladly admit if questioned, that she was a massive dork. There was no pretending otherwise: she spent most of her time curled up with a book and when she wasn’t busy with schoolwork or running clubs, she and Benjy often had extremely spirited debates about comic-books. But despite her own personal knowledge of what constituted such a label, she hadn’t quite expected to find out that Amycus Carrow was apparently as equally as dorky as she. Of course, he much preferred philosophy over comics, but the only way to describe him right now was gushing.

Fighting back a smile at what was actually a fairly ingenious stab at Professor Prewett, Emmeline clears her throat gruffly. She really shouldn’t be showing personal preference, even if Amycus was technically her boss. She had taken classes with Prewett too, and found him an intelligent, easy-to-get-on-with kind of person. Except, apparently, when it came to the Philosophy Department.

Her own eyes widening as Amycus leans forward, Emmeline wonders for only a brief moment whether every faculty had this sort of drama, before a startled squeak bursts from her lips. Was he really about to get changed here? Right now? 

Almost immediately she adverts her eyes, but not before she managed to get far more of a look at her boss’ chest than she had ever imagined she would get. Her cheeks burning, Emmeline hopes desperately that no-one walks past to see this because she has no clue how she would explain to her boyfriend why she had been sitting in a rabbit pen, surrounded by rabbits and a shirtless professor in broad daylight.

At least she could always tease Amelia about missing such a thing.

Clearing her throat as Amycus hands her the shirt, Emmeline allows herself to make eye-contact with him once more, despite the reddening of her cheeks still. She nods her head once in acknowledgement before she speaks again, voice soft and low. “So what are we going to do then? You’re not planning to exact revenge, are you?”

Rather fortunately, Amycus was far too preoccupied with the process of adjusting his professional shirt and folding the ripped t-shirt to pick up on any social cues that might have suggested he’d just done something very strange, even if he was remotely capable of doing so. He didn’t notice the deer-in-the-headlights expression directed towards him from his TA as he handed over the t-shirt, nor did he seem particularly bemused by the odd looks that some of the stragglers of the student fair had directed his way.

Instead, he stroked the fur between Bruce’s fur idly and indulged himself entirely in contemplation of what his next move would be.

What are we going to do then? 

Amycus, not given to smiling, felt his lips twitch upward faintly. We. 

“Certainly not,” he replied earnestly, eyes wide and unblinking and fervently serious as he gently stroked Bruce’s ears. “Revenge is reactionary and rarely well considered.”

His forehead furrowed faintly as he continued, nose wrinkled and eyes distant, “No, we will be proactive, we’ll hit Prewett where it will hurt the most,” he blinked a few times, as if coming back to himself and leaning forward to lower his voice in a conspirator’s whisper, “We’ll hit him at his library.”

If he’d said anything remotely ridiculous Amycus didn’t seem to realise it, the pleased smile that spread across his face was a rare show of such emotion and he didn’t pause before elaborating, “I’ll sneak into his office during one of his lectures and move all of his books around out of alphabetical order. Prewett hates it when things aren’t in the right order.”

And with this dastardly plan already clicking into gear in his brain, Amycus tentatively reached out to pet Lucy where he’d settled into lounging against the sole of his shoe. “It’ll serve him right for landing us both in a meeting with the Dean.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

professorprewett‌:

“I’m not going to argue about cotton tails with you!” Fabian punctuated his words with a finger pointed at Amcyus. “I already apologised!” Actually, Fabian wasn’t sure he had but he certainly wasn’t going to do so now. 

Amycus was straightening up as if he expected they were about to take up corners in a wrestling match. It wasn’t an entirely unapt metaphor, since philosophy often felt that way. Though maybe that was just the effect of working at the same college as his arch rival. Enemy. Nemesis. No word was really too strong.  

“Oh, don’t pretend you even listened to my analysis!” Fabian was really beginning to get angry now. He had entirely forgotten about the passing by students and the fact that they were representing the faculty. He even still had his name tag in place, clearly marking him out as a professor. Really, how dare Amycus pretend it was Fabian who had been the problem. “Perhaps you should pay attention to your own work! Forget philosophy, it’s time to go back to grade school. Worse than the worst? You can’t be worse than the worst!” Fabian had rarely in his life been incited to physical violence but he was tempted now to go in for a shove. Or at least he would have been, if he hadn’t caught sight of Slughorn staring them down across the campus. With a distinct look of disapproval. “Gentleman,” the dean said as he strolled by, “I think we’ll be needing to have another meeting.” 

(Fabian had the awful feeling they were going to be forced into a ‘team bonding’ activity again). 

end.

[admin-bones]

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 / 𝚒𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 / 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 / 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚒 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚒 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎

@barekneesnosocks

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

admin-bones‌:

Amelia could only listen to Amycus speak, his eyes wide with a deep enthusiasm for the subject. Herself, seemingly spellbound for a few moments. Teeth sinking into the inside of her bottom lip. He was very, very attractive when he talked about philosophy. It was probably why she had ended up sitting in on so many of is lectures when she wasn’t even one of his students. “Yeah, yeah..Absolutely.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding..” Amelia insisted. Snorting as she laughed, like his aversion to karaoke was the funniest thing she had ever heard. The very real fear in his eyes that she would somehow try to coax him back up onto that bar for another glorious rendition of Sweet Caroline. Amelia was certain she would adore watching it, even being a part of it, but it was clear mostly sober Amycus was far more reserved when it came to that type of thing. “I’m much too sober myself to actually get up there and sing…I certainly wouldn’t try to make you. It seems last time was quite traumatic..As most things involving Frank tend to be..”

“Please, you’re fine Amycus.” Amelia waved her free hand dismissively, like it was nothing to be concerned about. “I assure you, I’ve done more embarrassing things in public.” There was that time she had drunk entirely too much at a college party, getting up on the table and loudly proclaiming her undying love for the boyfriend who had just dumped her days before. That was cringe-worthy enough without Edgar having recorded it for blackmail. “Witnessed by friends…Luckily they were nice enough not to record it.”

Amelia cleared her throat, she might’ve painted herself into a corner with the topic of humiliating incidents in public. “Speaking of friends, my friend Emmeline is your teaching assistant..” Amelia offered, “Roommates too…Along with her boyfriend who’s in and out all the time and the bunnies, of course…She said you have have one?”

Amycus was never really convinced that someone wasn’t going to try and coax him up onto a bar for another round of impromptu karaoke: he hadn’t seen it coming, the first time around, and he had vowed to never be taken by surprise again. Amelia, however, with her bright snorting laughter, seemed less inclined to drag him up onto the bar with her than most of the people crowding the party so he supposed he could let her cheerful insistence that she’d been kidding pass without cross examination. 

“There was choreography,” he confirmed glumly, as if to impress upon her exactly how traumatic the event had been, before taking another long and overzealous sip from his cup of punch. Truly the devil’s drink.

And while Amycus was sure a great debate could be had over the extent of embarrassing encounters in the public eye that his sister had taken video footage of for blackmail purposes, the compulsion to move away from the subject lest he accidentally reveal the extent of Alecto’s leverage over him overran his natural inclination towards a good debate. “You have nice friends,” he offered instead, diplomatically, thereby implying that his own friends were by and large, not nice.

Which, he decided, was very much the truth.

The mention of Emmeline prompted an almost smile and Amycus took another sip of his punch, happily following the hopping path towards another of his favourite subjects (and another of the subjects to make Alecto’s list of things he shouldn’t talk about at parties.) “Yes!” he replied perhaps a little too vehemently, “Lucy. He’s uh — he’s not so well behaved as Vance’s bunny — he’s going through a rebellious phase at the moment. I think the realities of fatherhood haven’t quite set in for him yet.”

And Amycus had an entire theory about Lucy’s rebellion feeding into an underlying fear of  taking on a more responsible role in his bunny existence. It was one that another cup of punch would probably prompt him to share if he wasn’t careful. He lent forward a little and lowered his voice as if to share a secret, his punch curled protectively against his chest as he offered with wide, solemn eyes, “Vance is easily the best T.A on campus. Don’t tell anyone or Prewett will try and poach her.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

bunnyclubpresident‌:

The solemn and serious way that Amycus forms the other man’s name would normally cause Emmeline to burst into giggles at the sight. Had she not been right in front of him, she would surely not believe that Amycus Carrow would ever find himself tucked into a rabbit cage while practically spitting the name of a colleague. And yet, here they were.

The rivalry and bitterness between Carrow and Prewett was not something that Emmeline knew very much of. She truly tried to mind her own business on campus as much as she could, and it wasn’t as if she felt particularly comfortable with many members of the faculty, other than a select few. She had heard the rumours, of course, but it was becoming more and more apparent that she had unintentionally planted herself on the edge of their most recent disagreement.

“And you are?” Emmeline asks, her tone light as she wracks her brain trying to remember that particular lecture. She liked philosophy and understood it enough to maintain her TA job, but she certainly didn’t have the same level of care that Amycus did. Especially not enough to get into a fist-fight about it. Emme tilts her head to study the man’s face, trying not to smile at the way the other rabbits sniffed at him, while Lucy pointedly ignored his owner.

“You’re not fine, clearly,” Emmeline says with a roll of her eyes, handing Bruce over to sit on Amycus’ lap. The blasted man was high-strung enough as it was, he didn’t need to get any more worked up. Especially if Lucy was going to start misbehaving at the same time. “Want to start from the start? Run me through the whole thing, so we can plan to protect the club.” She doubted Prewett really had anything against the club, but it wouldn’t be the first time that members of the Ravenwood faculty had surprised her. 

“I’m assuming next time you meet one another in the halls.” Her words are short and clipped, although still empathetic as Emmeline tilts her head over the proffered cotton-tail, trying to assess the damage. “It’s definitely salvageable. I just don’t have any thread on me at the moment. Want me to take it home and fix it up for you? We can’t have a meeting without them.”

“I believe that every theory deserves due consideration instead of immediate dismissal,” Amycus replied loftily, not remotely answering the question as he reached down to carefully stroke between Lucy’s ears. His bunny’s rebellious phase had made for a tension-fraught few weeks around the hutch, but the babies had yet to show signs of any such wilful behaviour. They sniffed and nosed at his legs and nibbled at his shoelaces. 

But then he had a lapful of Bruce as well, who was perhaps the best behaved bunny that Amycus had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and he sighed, loudly, because if there was one thing he had learned over the course of having Emmeline as his TA it was that if she wanted something done it would happen and in short order as well. Automatically stroking a finger along Bruce’s ears he began, as requested, from the beginning.

“You had just left to get lunch,” which was, he thought, not a particularly relevant point of the story but a fair place to start, “I had the clipboard and someone had just finished signing when Prewett showed up.” Neither of them were supposed to be at the Student Activity Fair with meet the faculty events in action but that was really neither here nor there. “I asked him what he was doing there and if Slughorn was finally making him repeat his undergrad,” a remorseless smile tugged at the corner of his lips faintly before he continued, “He said that I was wrong so I brought up noncognitivism — Prewett hates noncognitivism — and he asked if I was recruiting people for my classes so I told him that class numbers for the Philosophy Department were unusually high, according to Slughorn, To which he made a dig about my —”

Amycus’s nose wrinkled faintly and he ran his fingers through Bruce’s fur. Bunnies made fantastic therapy animals. “—My social skills. And he pulled the bunny tail right off of my t-shirt and refused to apologise because moral judgements aren’t truth-apt, so I told him he was a dick and that I’d show him a truth-apt statement and he said I probably enjoyed failing all of my students and then—” he breathed out heavily for his nose, eyes wide as moons as he leaned forward to impress upon her firmly, “He brought up our group project from undergrad which he was — he was entirely responsible for making us fail anyway. So I told him as much and it all—”

He waved a hand absently, as if to indicate some enigmatic catastrophe, before settling it back upon Bruce’s back to resume petting. “The point is he made several, very disparaging comments about the Bunny Club and it wouldn’t be the first time Prewett has tried to sabotage me.” The group project had been a clear case of sabotage. “We are at war.”

The serious tone of his voice gave way, however briefly, to something a little more relieved at the assessment of his shirt. “Really? I can give it to you now,” he offered swiftly, scrambling for his satchel and the decidedly less fun shirt he knew lay inside it that he’d intended to change into for the faculty event but hadn’t had the time to do so. Bruce seemed mildly unimpressed by all the movement and Amycus seemed entirely oblivious to the idea that changing shirts, however quickly, in the middle of a pen full of bunnies, his TA and the remnants of the student fair was perhaps a weird thing to do.  He’d already completed the swap, folding the bunny club shirt neatly before setting it down neatly to the side and hastily setting about retying his hair where the strands had been tugged loose. 

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

professorprewett‌:

There was usually a certain moment in interactions with Amycus Carrow where something shifted and Fabian began to suspect he was beginning to go a little too far. That was usually the point he retreated to fume in private until the next meeting. Thing was, the longer they knew each other, the more time it took to get to that point.

Right now, he was admittedly more pleased than he should be by the irritated expression on his colleague’s face. It was always satisfying to not be the only one infuriated by the other’s presence and sometimes Amycus appeared a little too unruffled. Not today. 

And especially not when the cottontail from the Bunny Club shirt came away in Fabian’s hands. He actually hadn’t meant to exert quite so much force, but it was as if something inside him had been telling him it had to be done. He might have considered apologising if Amycus didn’t so immediately grab the tail out of his hands (Fabian would have given it back, he wasn’t a total monster … probably). 

“It’s a t-shirt, you’ve probably got a thousand more you’re never going to be able to give away in those boxes.” He probably should have been more conscious of the fact that they were standing in the middle of campus, but Fabian could have tunnel vision when in a philosophy argument - or philosopy-adjacent argument, as this really was more about Bunny Club, apparently. “Oh, I wouldn’t bother trying to explain moral nihilism to an expert like yourself. You wouldn’t know a moral action if it signed up to take one of your classes! Which no one should, since you probably take pleasure in making them fail. Just like you did with me! Worst partner I ever had.”  

“There’s only five left,” Amycus replied, as if this were the bigger moral outrage to be found rather than the implications that his own philosophical-leanings veered further towards nihilism than most people were comfortable with. “We hand-sewed the cotton-tails on!”

And Fabian Prewett may have had a good two inches in height on him but Amycus found himself filled with the vigour and pettiness of generations of philosophers before him who had found their own increasingly obnoxious ways to curse the names of their fellow philosophers. The field of Philosophy followed the same brutal script as the Highlander: there could be only one. The cotton-tail squeezed sadly between his clenched fists.

“I wasn’t the one who drove the rest of our group away by disagreeing with literally every other opinion that was shared,” Amycus replied, squaring up like their little confrontation might just come to fisticuffs. (It was, of course, a lie — they had both been insufferable, but Amycus would never acknowledge as much out loud.) “You’re worse than the worst. Your insight and analysis into Descartes Meditations was shallow and had about as much merit as Kanye West’s twitter philosophy. If I was marking it we would have had to repeat the entire module on the basis of that alone.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

admin-bones‌:

Amelia couldn’t help the fond, goofy smile that emerged as Amycus’s eyes lit up over philosophers. Physical attraction was one thing but Amelia much preferred a man who was passionate about something. If that something was going to be the musings of old dead men then so be it. She would read all the books in the world on the subject. “Well wouldn’t Wagner have been a visionary of his time period anyway?” Amelia offered, trying to rationalize why one dead man might have hated another, “Or at least a bit provocative..I suppose? Maybe Schopenhauer just couldn’t get with what the kids were doing.”

Amelia momentarily thought of Caradoc and his encouragement from earlier ( not to mention his herbal assistance ). Maybe she wasn’t so bad at conversations about philosophy? She had been able to keep up, at least with her knowledge of German composers. She made a mental note to thank her professors from college who insisted they didn’t just study the language but cultural institutions. An edible arrangement suddenly sounded like a good thank you gift, if not a little inordinate.

Amelia took a large gulp Longbottom punch, it was delicious but she was suddenly keenly aware of how unladylike she must look. Wiping the mouth of the back of her sleeve, she listened to the story of Amycus’s encounter with Frank. She snorted, laughing into the back of her hand at the thought of them both singing a rowdy rendition of the Neil Diamond song. To top it off, it had apparently been so wild that Frank had fallen and broken his wrist.

“So if I asked you to get up there with me, would you do it?” Amelia was only teasing, suddenly feeling emboldened by the punch. It was definitely starting to go to her head. How many had she had by now? Four…Five? “I would be much more careful, no broken wrists. Promise.”

There was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Or maybe…Your sister would be willing to share that video with me?” Amelia knew full well that Alecto Carrow more than likely wanted to strangle her, blaming Amelia for her research funding falling through. She could still dream though, couldn’t she? Or beg Caradoc to try to get a hold of it for her.

“You could argue that Wagner’s Tristan & Isolde was the birth of modern music,” he replied, eyes wide with enthusiasm for a subject he’d promised he was going to drop (at least internally) but didn’t quite have the heart to let go of. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Schopenhauer had all these grand ideas about the arts but he couldn’t see greatness happening right in front of him.”

Some might even say that a similar situation was at play with Karaoke Frank and his mastery and subversion of Karaoke, spanning all the many varied genres with a frightening dedication to the artform. Amycus rarely remembered much from the faculty parties, but he’d never quite managed to forget a particularly memorable rendition of Genuwine’s Pony from last years Spring Break party.

An odd, sputtered laugh escaped him like a compulsion as he half-choked on his mouthful of punch, the suggestion of getting back on the bar that he had so steadfastly avoided since that first memorable adventure leaving his mouth oddly dry. This was what happened when he went about engaging in social interactions like he was a capable human being. “I — uh—” he blinked a few times, glancing over at the bar dubiously like he was unable to stop from considering it. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had a terrible track record of saying no to people. “Is this for Karaoke or do you just want the higher ground so you can spot Frank coming?”

And the contents of Alecto’s phone was a terrible thing to contemplate anyone ever seeing the light of day of — she had a talent for documenting blackmail worthy moments (of which Amycus seemed to frequently find himself within). He took a hasty sip from his cup to add helplessly, “Come to think of it she might have — um — she probably deleted it when she changed phones. You know. Samsungs. Very unreliable.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

profalecto‌:

Her nose wrinkled at the mention of Kerouac; she may be a science professor, but Alecto knew enough about American modernism to know that Kerouac was absolutely horrible. If Dawlish liked him of all people, then Alecto was immediately judging him for bad taste. The glower she was fixed with had no affect on her, and she merely raised an eyebrow at her brother as she replied, “Well in that case the guy can sod off. Anyone who likes Kerouac is someone who doesn’t deserve to be a professor.”

Her teasing smile turned into a softer one when Amycus thanked her, and she kicked his shin gently under the table. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me.” Then again, he owed her for every Longbottom party she helped with the aftermath of, and none of that had been paid back (that she knew of). She didn’t expect much different this time around. “Maybe next time actually go easy on the punch. You’ll be able to avoid this mess if you do.”

Chatted. They simply chatted. Alecto had something of a sixth sense for when people looked at herself or Amycus oddly, and recently she’d seen Amelia Bones staring at Amycus like he hung the moon. It was weird and she didn’t exactly like it, especially since the woman was the reason her research project was denied, but she couldn’t run Amycus’ life for him. She could try to influence it, however. “Hm. I’d be careful around that one, Amycus. She went and shut down my research without a second thought, the asshole.” She reached over and stole a piece of watermelon from his plate, popping it into her mouth and humming at the sweetness of it. “If she isn’t interested in philosophy, then why sit in on your lectures?”

I wasn’t doing anything. “Bullshit,” she said with a snort. “Amycus, I know when you’re trying to steer the conversation away from yourself. It comes with the territory of being a twin.” Alecto huffed when he put the banana aside with disgust and stole it from his tray, eating it happily. “But fine, have it your way. Antonin and I were just discussing how many students we can send off to war, obviously. Gotta make them useful somehow.” And that was also bullshit, but it was still amusing to make their conversations seem more extravagant than they actually were. “You can never be too prepared.”

Lips quirking faintly upwards at the vehemence behind a dislike for Kerouac he speared a piece of mango on his fork, staring hard at the slimy texture for biting ruthlessly into it. Fuck Kerouac anyway. His sister could be relied upon to have good taste on most days (her hatred for Lucy notwithstanding) and he was .. well he was curious about a great many things underneath the misery of his hangover, like whether she had any thoughts on Amelia Bones or her seeming indulgence of his tendency to talk about dead philosophers. 

Pulling his shin back with a wince (honestly, he wasn’t sure why they had to be so violent about it all) he huffed out a bleary-eyed, “I owe you,” of agreement, well aware that any such debts were unlikely to be paid because Alecto was always so controlled and didn’t get into weird fights in the quad with her colleagues or drink too much Longbottom Juice and get drafted into Karaoke Frank’s latest stage performance. It would be annoying if .. well it was annoying, frankly, especially when she took care to remind him that he could have avoided this mess.

“It tastes like Malibu,” he replied instead, chewing delicately at a piece of watermelon and blinking heavily as he debated internally over whether that was an answer or not. He erred on the side of yes. “Careful?” he replied dubiously, eyebrows arching upward as he considered he admittedly slightly foggy memories of the previous night, “I haven’t applied for any research projects and I don’t think Amelia Bones is about to shut down the philosophy department.  She said she enjoyed the lecture.”

And that had him sitting up a little straighter, expression easing from pained to something closer to pleased as his headache began to retreat and the sweet taste of watermelon chased away the sour reminder of last night’s punch. “I was not,” he replied, without any real attempt at conviction, jabbing a fork into a piece of rockmelon and discarding it on the side of his plate with a wrinkle of his nose. “I was interested in—”

He didn’t really need to equivocate, it turned out, because Alecto was casting him a dour, knowing look and already expanding upon her and Antonin’s plans to ship off their unwanted students to a warzone. Which. Well, Amycus would never really put it past the pair of them but he often found himself wondering if Alecto liked to embellish on their little talks. His nose wrinkled faintly before he declared, “Bullshit,” and stabbed his fork back into the salad, withdrawing a piece of pineapple with a small, pleased smile. “Did you have a good night?”

And being so forthcoming with questions about his sister’s night may have been inherently suspicious but if it kept her distracted from his own he was happy to do it.

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

admin-bones‌:

Amelia took another sip of her own drink, humming to herself as she really considered what might be lurking in the delicious mixture of Longbottom punch. She could maybe taste Malibu? Amelia could never be certain with these kinds of things. “Maybe?” she offered weakly, shrugging. It could be vodka for all she knew. Not a connoisseur of any alcoholic beverages despite her parents being avid wine drinkers who swirled it around in expensive glasses and sniffed it at parties. Amelia was usually just content to split a box of wine with Emmeline from the local supermarket. 

Amelia’s eyes brightened at the mention of something she might actually know. Jumping at any opportunity to show off her knowledge of philosophy like it would somehow win his favor. “I know you said no more philosophy talk but...Schopenhauer?” Amelia asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she tired to recall some little nugget of information on the dead philosopher. Amelia could remember the name from her upper level German courses, from some project someone had done on Wagner and his influences.

“Didn’t he write the The World as Will and Representation…Die Welt ist meine Vorstellung?” Amelia tried not to cringe at her pronunciation, it seemed her German skills were rather rusty these days. Not practicing seemed to have hurt her in the end. “I seem to remember him being an influence on Wagner? That’s probably the only reason I remember it.”

Amelia couldn’t help the smirk that was blooming across her face at the idea of Amycus singing with the notorious karaoke Frank. Quietly patting herself on the back for thinking of mentioning it. “I’ve probably just been lucky so far.” Amelia offered, trying her damnedest not to laugh at the serious, earnest expression on his face. It must’ve been a traumatic interaction. Amelia playfully patted Amycus on the arm, her fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. “Sweet Caroline?” she snorted, “You can tell me all about it, I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

The delighted exclamation of, “Yes!” that followed Amelia’s insistence that she knew Schopenhauer was accompanied by a brief flash of a beaming smile, a glimmer of excitement emerging from his half-drunk mind that was all too happy to connect the dots between German philosophers and composers. “They called him the artist’s philosopher because he was so well-read by influential figures within the arts. Wagner and Tolstoy and Shaw and Beckett. It’s funny because he wasn’t — uh, he wasn’t the biggest fan of Wagner in return. He preferred Mozart.”

Was that funny? Alecto probably wouldn’t think so. She’d probably be throwing cocktail umbrellas at him if she was close enough to hear him rabbiting on about dead white guys again. He took a long, hasty, sip of the potent punch and wrinkled his nose against the immediate burn at the back of his throat.

And really, it wasn’t as if the trials and tribulations of Karaoke Frank were a much more interesting subject than the influence of Schopenhauer upon the building blocks of modern music, but maybe it was all connected and that disastrous rendition of Sweet Caroline had all led him to this place. Amelia, seemingly, was just as interested in Neil Diamond as she was in Wagner, so perhaps he could at least make it through one party anecdote that didn’t require name-dropping dead philosophers.

He was only vaguely aware of the lingering touch to his arm, his head tilting in vague bemusement as the Longbottom Punch loosened his tongue enough to relive his very last encounter with Karaoke Frank. “It was my first year teaching and nobody had warned me about the punch or — I suppose — about Frank. It’s, uh, I’m not very good at saying no to people when they ask me to do things, I guess, and I didn’t realise that it would involve getting up on the bar. I’m not really a singer.”

A weird little hiccuping noise escaped him and he blinked a few times, realising perhaps he shouldn’t have taken such a big gulp of the punch so quickly, before continuing, “Frank broke his wrist? I think? The details are still a little hazy but Alecto has the whole thing on her phone as blackmail in case I ever annoy her.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

bunnyclubpresident‌:

Resting her back as gently as she can against the wire of the rabbit run, Emmeline takes immediate pleasure in the fact several of the rabbits immediately begin to clamour over her, their little noses twitching. She really did adore the little things and was incredibly grateful that not only was Amelia okay with sharing a flat with them, but that Benjy didn’t seem to mind the occasionally times he would be woken in the middle of the night by Bruce bounding on his head.

At least she didn’t think he minded. Perhaps he was just too polite, or too in love with her to say so.

Quirking an eyebrow at Amycus’ mumbled mention of his sister, who Emmeline knew was also a professor and quite a terrifying one at that. She doesn’t bother to respond, choosing to scratch at the top of Bruce’s head instead, appreciating her soft fur and the way she nuzzles into her stomach. 

Smiling absentmindedly as Amycus joins her in the pen, Emmeline shuffles backwards to ensure there was enough room for them both, only briefly imagining the sight they currently made. (And also wondering if she could subtlely text Amelia to join them). 

“Prewett?” she repeats, not hiding the simultaneous surprise and mild concern in her voice. What did the moral philosophy professor have to do with anything? Aside from the fact she was fairly sure he and Amycus despised one another.

A smile quirks at Emmeline’s lips at the apparent bunny stand-off that was occurring between Amycus and Lucy, watching as. the pair seemed to stare at one another before she returns her focus to the topic at hand. “How…I’m sorry…how does a philosophy debate turn into a physical alteration?” she questions, before realising the stupidity of such a thing. It was Carrow and Prewett. That was why.

“Are you okay?” she asks finally, knowing that Amycus, for all his quirks and solemnity, genuinely cherished his club shirt. “Do you want me to help repair it? Before…the next battle?”

“Prewett,” Amycus confirmed grimly, as if the name alone could invoke the proper sentiment that he was trying to convey (something akin to a Disney villain or the man in the back of every pub who started up with conspiracy theories after they’d had a few that everyone quickly learned to avoid.)

And the question of how exactly philosophy could get physical registered as vaguely bemusing in the back of his head, as if he couldn’t quite fathom how anyone could not care enough about philosophy to come to fisticuffs over it, (there had been numerous times in his short career that such an eventuality had come to being, most involving Prewett, and he was sure that the tenured professors must have a story or two as well.)

“Prewett is not a fan of non-cognitivism,” Amycus replied coolly, as if that might just explain the reasoning behind the missing cotton tail and the altercation that had taken place earlier in the day. He scratched irritably at the back of his neck if only to stop himself from playing with his hair jaw ticking as he cleared his throat and attempted to assume some level of dignity while confined in a pen filled with rabbits that were currently nibbling at his shoe laces.

“I am fine,” he insisted, somehow making the word fine sound completely the opposite as Lucy finally gave up on his short-lived rebellion and rolled to his feet to hop dubiously towards his owner and promptly leaned in to bite at the back of his knuckle. Amycus winced, drawing his hand away to level a pointed look in his bunny’s direction and watch him hop remorsefully closer to his hip. “Prewett is the one with the problem. He seemed to think I was plotting against him.”

Never mind that Amycus did and had spent a not-insignificant amount of time plotting the best way in which to get Prewett fired. That was neither here nor there.

“Who knows when the next battle will take place?” and if Emmeline’s choice of that particular word had been ironic, Amycus didn’t pick up on it, his eyes wide and solemn as moons as he fished the cotton tail out of his pocket and held it out in one hand with a solemnity that seemed perhaps overdramatic, considering the occasion. “Do you think it’s salvageable?”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

professorprewett‌:

Fabian tried not to let his eye twitch, he was sure Carrow knew he hated noncognitivism. Well, that wasn’t a professional academic’s way of viewing things - he disagreed with it. Profusely. Non-passionately. No, he knew that Carrow knew that - Fabian had cited him (quite unnecessarily and taken extreme lengths to do so) at least three times in a paper arguing against it. 

Before he could decide whether or not it was really worth sticking around for yet another argument with Carrow, who clearly couldn’t be mature - forgetting conveniently that it was Fabian himself who’d decided to approach him - the clipboard was ripped from his hands. Fabian’s mouth tightened in a thin line. “Right. You recruiting. Now it makes sense. Mr. Popularity.”

That explained the lack of any students milling around the booth, Fabian imagined they’d been frightened away by none other than Carrow himself. Even if Fabian had to admit he wasn’t looking particularly threatening in that shirt. Fabian grimaced at the mention of interest in the Department; he’d seen the live tweeting thread of a student in one of Amycus’ classes last year. One of the classes Fabian himself had disrupted. It had been a popular thread. Slughorn had stopped begging him to behave better around his colleague. 

That wasn’t what Fabian was thinking about in moments like these, however. He was thinking about how irritating that little cotton tail on the stupid shirt was. “This is just getting ridiculous,” Fabian said, tugging on it until it fell off into his hands.  He grimaced a little, then had to laugh at the absurdity, “I’d apologise - but, remember, moral judgements aren’t truth-apt.” 

“I don’t have to be popular to hold a clipboard,” he replied stiffly, like the reminder of his own graceless manner was something he could have done without while trying to muster up enthusiasm about a club that he actually cared quite a bit about, if only through the general osmosis of being around Emmeline who seemed to care a great deal about it. Thankfully the bunnies were selling themselves well enough, loping slowly around their pen and flopping down upon their little patch of turf to yawn and make generally adorable nuisances of themselves. 

And he was just setting the clipboard down with a familiar irritation brewing in his chest that seemed to be most prevalent in Prewett’s presence, when he felt it. The sharp tug at the back of his shirt accompanied by Prewett’s scoff of being ridiculous and he whirled around in a bemused full circle, head craning over his shoulder to try and glimpse the cheerful little cotton tail that was decidedly missing from his shirt. That was currently sitting in Prewett’s hand. 

He blinked for a long moment at it, like he didn’t quite know how to process this information, before immediately and concisely scoffing, “Dick.”

It was perhaps the crown jewel of philosophical arguments he had to offer, if the hasty manner in which he snatched the cotton tail back from him was any indication, oblivious to the phone screens that had begun to be pointed in their direction.  “Give me that. If you want to make a case for moral nihilism now, just try me, Prewett. I’ll give you a truth-apt statement.”

An entirely mature middle finger seemed to be the bones of his argument as he made to stuff the cotton tail into his pocket with his other hand. 

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

admin-bones‌:

“Obviously.” Amelia laughed nervously. Her cheeks pinkened in slight embarrassment at immediately hurting someone she was trying so hard to impress. That sharp zap of electricity between them signified something in Amelia’s mind. Whether it was something good or bad, was yet to be seen. A few cups of Longbottom punch down and Caradoc’s words of encouragement in the back of her mind, Amelia tried to reassure herself that it was a good omen. Trying to ignore the tittering nervousness she had been feeling and just relax. Amelia’s eyes momentarily fell to her empty cup before looking back up at Amycus, listening to him expand a bit more on Kant.

Honestly, she could listen to him talk forever. Despite her only half-hearted interest in philosophy, there were some things that were fascinating, if not a little confusing and long-winded. She would never deny someone the opportunity to talk about something they were really passionate about anyway. Lord knows, she had listened to Emmeline talk endlessly about Benjy Fenwick with a smile plastered on her face. 

The question of what exactly happened last year was on the tip of tongue but Amycus was already turning on his heels to grab another drink. He might not want to elaborate on it anyway. Amelia was certain that, whatever it was, it had something to do with Fabian Prewett. Her own interaction with the man earlier in the night seemed to signify the two were at odds. She had heard it before but only as whispers between students and their coworkers. Fabian hadn’t really given her a satisfactory answer about why he hated Amycus so much, simply that he was evil and needed to be avoided. Amelia had tried her best to keep a straight face.

Amelia followed Amycus towards the punch bowl in silence as they weaved through hoards of their coworkers. Trying to avoid the eye of anyone who looked particularly chatty or the notorious karaoke Frank, who was liable to grab any unsuspecting coworker and force them into renditions of eighties power ballads. Not that it sounded too terrible, Amelia was just simply not drunk enough at this point. Refilling her own cup, she watched Amycus curiously, wracking her brain for another topic of conversation. Amelia was just about to open her mouth, thinking she might ask something about Amycus’s sister, when he beat her to it.

“Honestly?” Amelia snorted, “Who knows…All I taste are cherries and pineapple. There’s no telling what’s slipped in there.” Amelia was sure there was something highly suspect about that punch, it tasted too delicious to have any alcohol in it whatsoever. At her first party, she had indulged a bit too much. Not making a scene but she had definitely had a migraine the next morning. “It might not even be the Longbottoms liquoring it up? Maybe a third party sees fit to slip something in every year.”

A teasing, playful smirk crossed her face as she thought to ask how many parties Amycus had been to. Amelia knew he had worked here longer than she had. “Has Frank ever snagged you for karaoke?” she asked, “Or dancing?…He hasn’t cornered me yet.”

One of the great mysteries of Ravenwood as long as Amycus had been a member of the faculty had been who was responsible for the contamination of the punch every year. The Longbottoms had sworn, on their honour, that the Longbottom Juice always began the night as a non-alcoholic option, but without fail at some point in the evening it would become the same potent cocktail that ruined lives and ended in suffering the next morning.

Amycus was inordinately fond of the spiked Longbottom Juice. He’d never made it through a faculty party without it. He sniffed at it suspiciously, as if he might be able to finally put a finger on what it was that made the punch so alluring before taking another long sip. “Schopenhauer would define this as a full feeling of the sublime,” he hummed absently, staring into the murky depths of his cup with full, inherent knowledge of the violent destruction it could wreak upon him and a familiar sense of awe. Maybe Amelia was right and it was some mysterious third party sweeping in every year to ensure the Longbottom Juice remained the devil’s drink of legend. “I think I can taste Malibu.”

With that in mind (and a stern reminder that substituting Kant for another aestheticist did not excuse him from the same rules) he grimaced at the reminder of patchy memories of years past, of Karaoke Frank brandishing a microphone in his face. “We don’t speak of the Sweet Caroline incident,” he replied with a baleful expression, taking another pointed sip of his punch and staring grimly across the bar as if he could pick out that worrying head from the crowd, “Alecto has never let me live it down.”

She had been sensible and stayed away from the punch that year while, Amycus, also a newly minted member of faculty, had not been prepared for Karaoke Frank or the punch. “If you don’t make eye contact he can’t get you,” he offered, with the wide-eyed earnest advice of a man who had since discovered how best to avoid Karaoke Frank and his insistence on turning every party into a performance. “If you stay away from well-lit areas he won’t notice you either. Or high surfaces he can climb onto. He likes to have the higher ground while he’s singing.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

bunnyclubpresident‌:

Comforted by the fact they were unlikely to be accosted by anymore first-years, and if they were, she could always send Amycus after them, Emmeline gives in to her urge and steps carefully into the blocked-off area used for containing the rabbits. Plopping herself down on the ground, she smiles as Bruce immediately burrows her way into her lap, letting her fingers brush over the soft fur of the rabbit’s ears. Bunny Club had almost seemed like a ridiculous idea to begin with, but Emme couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t an element of truth to it; she did feel remarkably calmer around them.

Watching as Amycus gathers up the loose pamphlets, having cast his belongings to the side, Emmeline can’t help but smile at the sight of his shirt. Matching club shirts had also seemed like a ridiculous idea, but there was no denying that they were awfully cute. Shaking her head at his enquiries, Emmeline reaches across to stroke the head of the rabbit in question, watching as Lucy buries himself further into the corner. She knew how fiesty Amycus’ rabbit could be at times, but she was remarkably pleased with how well-behaved he had been, particularly given all the strange people around. “He tried to pick on Brucey a bit, just playing, I think, but she put a stop to that pretty quickly,” Emme explains, knowing that the two rabbits had bonded considerably. “I didn’t see too much rebellion at all.” 

One eyebrow immediately quirking at his words, Emmeline freezes in her petting of Bruce, casting a concerned look in Amycus’ direction. “What do you mean we’re made some enemies?” she asks, voice low. It wasn’t as if they were a particularly notorious group or even a very controversial one. They met semi-regularly and gave people the opportunity to hold a rabbit. That was it. “What happened?”

There was some relief to be found in that Lucy had behaved himself today — new situations were always a considerable source of concern, on Amycus’s part more than Lucy’s for the most part, but at least however badly his afternoon had gone, Lucy had enjoyed his day. He turned, pamphlets in hand, to stare somewhat bewilderedly at where Emmeline had flopped down into the rabbit run with the exhausted air of grad students everywhere and for a moment found himself at a loss as to what he had been going to say.

Right. Lucy.

“Perhaps it’s just Alecto,” he murmured absently, considering whether or not his rabbit had decided to get territorial simply to spite his sister for a moment and deciding that it was more likely than he might have thought.  But there were more serious matters to consider.

He glanced suspiciously to all sides before climbing over the pen’s gates to settle down, cross-legged, opposite Emmeline, voice lowered as he replied, “Prewett.” 

The name was spoken like a curse, the serious expression on his face never wavering even as Lucy perked up, ears twitching but refusing to come closer out of sheer bunny stubbornness. “He dropped by earlier and—” eyebrows arched upward, his expression fierce as he replied with great intensity, “There was a philosophical debate — and because he was losing, as per usual, he tore the cotton-tail off my club shirt.”

Amycus’s forehead furrowed, eyes turning downwards to watch as Lucy lazily hopped forward to sniff at his fingers, “It was a declaration of war, Vance. Who knows what he’ll do next?”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

profalecto‌:

She grinned wickedly when Amycus gave her the middle finger, not bothering to hold back her snicker as he pulled himself out of his cave to drink the water. It was the same thing every party, and every party Alecto got the hilarious aftermath of her grumbling brother as he complained about the previous night’s mistakes. Safety mechanism was certainly one word for relying on the spiked punch to get through the night; others might call it alcoholism, if he did it closer to a daily basis. “Have you even met Dawlish, Amycus?” she asked, reaching to one of the plates she’d brought over from the buffet and shoving it closer to him. “Eat, it’ll help. Look, I even got your favorites–you’re welcome, by the way.”

The stutter on Amelia’s name was a surprise, and Alecto raised one eyebrow at him while he continued to get out his sentence through a mix of ums and ahs. Now that was interesting; she hadn’t known that Amycus knew who Amelia was, but here he was acting too casual for her to buy his act and leaving his sister with a number of questions. “I know of her would be more appropriate,” she said, searching his face for any other sign of his thoughts on Amelia Bones. “I wasn’t aware an administrator would be interested in philosophy. I suppose you two had an enlightening conversation?”

Alecto snorted when Amycus shifted his focus to herself and Antonin. You’re not getting away that easily, brother. “He’s just fine, actually. We’ve got several students taking both of our classes, so I suppose I should say pray for their grades if you’re feeling kind.” Another bite into her apple, and Alecto pointed at Amycus with it. “You can’t distract me that easily, Amy.”

Huddled over their table with the miserable disposition of a man who had succumbed to the Longbottom Juice, Amycus continued to sip on his water as Alecto cackled at him. Rude. “I don’t need to meet him,” he replied with a dark glower directed his sister’s way that didn’t have quite the bite it might have done if it were anyone else seated opposite him, “I have it on good authority he likes Kerouac.”

Reaching out to drag a plate across the table towards him with a grimace of gratitude, he reached absently for a fork to spear a hunk of pineapple out of a bowl and drag it off the utensil with his teeth. When his stomach didn’t recoil from the sweetness he settled in, picking his way through the fruit salad with a finnicky eye and a belated, “Thank you,” that he hoped might win him some leeway in the grilling to come.

Or not.

“I don’t know how interested in philosophy she is but she’d sat in on some of my lectures,” he offered slowly, chewing on a piece of watermelon with narrowed eyes and the distinct sense he was walking right into a trap but couldn’t quite determine how. “We just, uh,” his forehead furrowed faintly, trying to settle upon a word that didn’t sound quite so remarkably out of character as, “Chatted?”

And of course, he had never quite been as adept at manoeuvring conversations to where he wanted them to go when they weren’t on his specialist subjects, and Alecto knew very well that people had never been his topic of choice. “I wasn’t doing anything,” he feigned innocence as his fork picked absently through the bowl in search of strawberries, fishing out a hunk of banana to discard with a grimace onto the tray beside it, “I was just interested in what the pair of you were plotting together.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

admin-bones‌:

Amelia. Her name sounded so nice coming from his mouth. She tried her best to curb the stupid, starry eyed, love struck look she was probably sporting. Giving Amycus a tight lipped smile and reaching out to shake his hand politely. As she reached to touch his hand, she suddenly felt a shock of static electricity. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she chuckled nervously, “Maybe it’s my impassioned dislike of the beat generation, sending bad vibes…”

Amelia listened as Amycus apologized to her for being subjected to one of his lectures. She suddenly felt the need to defend him from himself. He was being entirely too critical. “No, no. You’re great, really.” Amelia answered quickly, “It’s always easier, at least for me, when a professor is really passionate about what they study. It’s a difficult position to be in…standing in front of a bunch of students…I can only imagine the amount of stress. Partly why teaching has always scared the hell out of me.”

Amelia wracked her brain for details on the last lecture she had attended. It had been some time since she’d seen him teach. Now that she was actually working at the school it seemed like sneaking into a professor’s lectures uninvited might come off as a little…creepy? Even she had boundaries apparently. “Well I’ve ah been to a few…” An honest answer, but slightly embarrassing all the same, “It’s been awhile, so forgive me, but I think the last one was a discussion on aesthetics and Kant’s Critique of Judgment?”

Amycus’s sudden invitation surprised her, throwing her off balance in a peculiar way. Amelia hadn’t expected anything more than a quick hello, goodbye, how’s the weather type of conversation.. “Me?” she squeaked out, pointing to herself as if Amycus wasn’t just speaking with her and only her. A stunned look momentarily crossed her face before she forced another smile. 

“I mean, yes. Yeah, of course.” she answered, trying to steady her voice as she reprimanded herself for that conversational fumble. “You know, that’s funny..I came with someone as well and they have conveniently disappeared on me.”

A sharp zap of electricity sparked between their fingers, Amycus’s hand jerking backward with a surprised little noise that firmly jogged him out of the routine of shaking hands and sharing the same carefully rehearsed pleasantries designed to convince people he knew what he was doing, his eyes wide as he teetered towards laughter before recovering. “A natural defence against Kerouac?” he offered with a bemused twitch of his lips, his fingers still tingling as they hovered at his side.

It felt a little bit like a warning, but Amycus wasn’t entirely certain what it was warning him about.

And he’d never really been good at absorbing compliments, the odd assembly of them he got in any given week usually batted aside with a clumsy sort of acknowledgement that Amelia wasn’t allowing. It was nice, if not more than a little confusing, his shoulders rising subconsciously as he rocked back on his heels. “Oh, well it’s not hard to care about philosophy,” at least not for him, though there were a great many students who he suspected would disagree, with a wry tilt of his head he awkwardly barrelled onward at the first glimpse of an opportunity to turn their conversation away from him, “Kant was — you know, a giant hypocrite, but he really does have some fascinating ideas about aesthetics and the sublime and—” 

In the back of his head he could practically hear Alecto groan at him. Was he the Dawlish in his scenario? He thought, grimly, of the little pin stuck to the lapel of his blazer, emblazoned with I Kant Even that he’d seen multiple students sigh at the sight of and decided, perhaps, that he should change the subject. “I promised my sister I wouldn’t talk about Kant outside the classroom after what happened last year." Like most of his last time stories it had involved another loud debate with Prewett, the reminder of which spurred on the grim memory of their altercation at the activities fair, which was probably why he wasn’t quite paying enough attention to the bewildered squeak of Me? to find it more than passingly odd.

But Amelia had agreed and perhaps he wasn’t failing miserably at this whole socialising thing like he usually did. If she’d been ditched too, however unintentionally, then at the very least he wasn’t holding her up from her actual friends or partner or whoever she’d come with. He half-turned on his heel to orientate himself in the crowd, before picking a path through it towards the forbidden punch bowl, not entirely convinced that if he glanced back Amelia wouldn’t have disappeared into the crowd. He filled a second cup regardless, turning away from the little station and feeling mildly surprised to see that Amelia hadn’t ditched him as her next horror story for the next person she ran into.

The guy who wouldn’t stop rabbiting on about Kant.

“What do you think they put in the punch?” he asked, sniffing it suspiciously and getting only an overwhelming burn of alcohol, “I’ve never been able to figure it out but every year I keep coming back to it.”

[barekneesnosocks-blog]

bunnyclubpresident‌:

Wondering, not for the first time, if she had made a mistake in volunteering to do this, Emmeline repeats her question once more. She wasn’t sure why it was such a difficult concept: “would you like to sign up for our mailing list?”, and yet it was as if she was asking this particular group if they knew how to solve world hunger. It wasn’t the first years fault, she knew that, but Emmeline was overworked and hungry and severely under-caffeinated, and so she wasn’t sure she could be held accountable for her terrible attitude right now.

Waving away the gaggle of students, Emmeline fights the urge to immediately curl up inside the rabbit run and to let the little creatures hop all over her, flinging the clipboard onto the table and facing the newcomer instead. The faculty advisor of Bunny Club was an odd man, that was certain, but Emmeline liked him anyway. He was intelligent and a very capable professor, and he loved rabbits just as much as she did. Being his TA had been one of the highlights of the previous year for her, and she couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t delighted to do it again. “Lucy was a delight, as he always is,” Emme says brightly, glancing at the rabbit in question, “No biting, but he did try to make a run for it. We bribed him back with snacks. That’d be great, if you could just grab those pamphlets?”

The words Lucy and delight in the same sentence brought a pleased twitch to the corner of Amycus’s lips, in spite of all evidence to the contrary that Lucy was a terribly naughty rabbit with a penchant for escapes, it was always nice to know that someone appreciated his bunny for precisely the bunny he was meant to be. Emmeline was, by any reckoning, one of Amycus’s favourite people on campus. Competent TA’s were a rare commodity as it was, in his experience, but ones he genuinely liked who had common interests and weren’t terrified of him were practically unheard of.  

Hoisting his satchel up off his shoulder and setting it on the ground, next to the bunny run, he eased his blazer off of his shoulders and tossed that on top of his satchel before moving towards the booth to begin gathering up he pamphlets that had been scattered across the table by careless hands. “He didn’t bother the other bunnies?” A constant worry, if the faint furrow that worked its way into his forehead was any indication. A much better worry than any other earlier disasters that had occurred that afternoon. “He’s been very possessive of his water bottle, lately,” if the way he’d charged Alecto’s ankles last time she’d dared wander near his hutch had been any indication, though Lucy and his sister had never exactly taken to one another. “I think he’s going through a rebellious phase.”

The expression on his face seemed to indicate he was entirely serious about the matter as he stacked the pamphlets together in his hands, snapping a rubberband neatly around the bundle to keep them together before turning back to hand them to Emmeline with a furrowed brow. “I think,” he began slowly and sombrely, thinking of the rip in the back of his t-shirt and pursing his lips faintly, “The Bunny Club might have made some enemies.”